


Coffee

by Scottie



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: M/M, later chapters will be a little nsfw, short multichapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-29 10:33:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3893104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scottie/pseuds/Scottie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the disbanding of the Red mercs, Medic goes to New York to work posing as a regular doctor in a clinic. The clinic deals with underground bargains and patching up gang members for big money leaders. Medic was beginning to accept his new, almost dull life until a certain merc shows his mug around town and drags him back into the world of mercs and desire. </p>
<p>(A short fic series centered around the main pairing of Tfc Heavy and Medic.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to Jealousyblood and Eternal Ruler on tumblr. <3

 The dim lights of the subway had winked in the comfortable darkness. It was a late night for Medic. There was snow on the breath of the sky and by early morning it would probably snow in moderation and melt by midday. He drew into himself as he waited for the train to pull in. His coat was thick around his body and the platform was as lifeless as the small clinic he worked in. New York was his haven after the dissolution of the Red mercs. This was the place he had first come to when he first immigrated to the States. Ellis Island had been a terrible experience and he was glad that ordeal was over with. He remembered seeing Lady Liberty for the first time and joking with a Lithuanian that she could have gotten a better hat.

It was Medic’s habit to do paperwork while waiting for the train. He’d have everything organized in a neat file in his lap as he sat quietly and focused on a cold, hard bench. Hunger and weariness gnawed at the corners of his consciousness. He didn’t usually eat until about 1 or 2 when he got back to the small, roomy apartment at the far east side of the city. He had made enough money from the job back with the industries that he could live comfortably but he was never one to just sit back on his wealth and do nothing. He needed something to do with his hands, something to make him think.

Medic, before joining the Gravel Wars, had been an underground doctor here in New York and he had gotten handsomely paid to keep criminal secrets and gang members alive with his ‘magic touch’. He had left without a word and coming back to the scene now was a bit of a rough transition. He hand much more restrictions here and Medic found himself missing the times he could preform live surgery with a conscious patient under cherry red fumes. He got so much interesting data from his experiments in Red and he had, regrettably found a place he felt most comfortable with. A place where he wasn’t alone in the pool of quirkiness. 

Medic swiped at his cold nose, ungloved fingers for a moment warming the cold, pinkish flesh. The train should be coming soon; he hoped. He wanted a good meal, a hard drink, and a warm bed to sleep in.

He was as alone here as he had initially thought. Some couple people were standing around, eyes glued to clocks snapped on their wrists or along the walls. Every tick was an eternity added on to the time til they could tuck themselves into their warm beds or drown in their liquid sorrows. A young woman stood by herself near the tracks, fingers playing a nervous beat against her cuff, eyes downcast. Office women were now more and more common in this modern society but that didn’t change the fact that they were still women in the eyes of law and men who sought to still belittle them. Medic had a fantastic habit of not caring about the gender of his coworkers as long as work got done and he got results. 

Then there was a man several benches away from Medic. Older and with a grey turtle neck fitted beneath a worn, black wool coat. He described him as older but Medic was old himself, almost in his fifties in another year and that man couldn’t be anymore than his mid-sixties with short peppered hair and generous sideburns. Medic didn’t pay enough attention to actually try to figure out his age but it did serve as something nice to pass the time.

The man wandered off somewhere Medic couldn’t see and so he was left with staring blankly at his files with a bored expression as he tried to keep his mind off the annoying cold that was seeping into his body. He had forgotten his gloves at home; dammit.

Remembering himself, Medic noticed the approach of the man from before. A cup of coffee was thrust ungracefully in front of him and Medic gaped up at the man above. He spoke in a rumbling fashion, voice low that spoke with a melody of shaven vanilla and whiskey. Medic was instantly drawn.

“You look half dead,” the man said, darkened mahogany eyes gazing coolly at Medic as if he were trying not to see him but seeing him. “Drink it.” His eyes focused this time on Medic with an intensity that almost made his breath catch. He could have understood then why the man didn’t look directly at him but that was just something stirring fancifully in his own mind.

The man offered him the cup again and this time, Medic speechlessly took it. His fingers were instantly warmed, almost too quickly that it came close to nearly scolding his hands through the thin white paper cup. Medic adjusted his hands then his glasses, stumbling upon his words and his evident accent.

“Ah, dank- I mean thank you,” he said, dipping his head forward as if to try to hide himself from the sudden kindness of the stranger. He felt a vague feeling of familiarity from this situation and he couldn’t place his finger on what it was. It seemed to have come upon the stranger that he was open to take a seat beside Medic. He kept a polite distance from Medic. His large hands encased his own cup easily and it appeared that he had no discomfort from the hotness of the beverage as he drank deeply from the cup.

Medic stared at his hands without meaning to. The man stirred, and Medic believed it to almost sound like the rustle of leaves in autumn. “Something wrong?” he asked gruffly, a hint of amusement in the way he tilted his words. Medic smiled a toothy smile, tucking the loose papers in his lap together in its file. “I was just admiring your hands,” he said cheerfully. One habit he had was examining the hands of people. It could tell a lot about a person, but of course the minimal things and that was always enough.

“Oh?” he asked, eyes shifting to his hands then back to Medic’s gleaming expression. Medic chuckled and set the cup of coffee down by the foot of the bench, out of the way of any threat to being knocked over. His hands were warm now and he pointed to the stranger’s large ones.

“Your grip,” he began.

“My grip..?”

Medic grinned. “It’s firm, a sort of gripping style that shows power or possessiveness. Then the callouses,” Medic drew a finger close to his hand that had relaxed its grip on the cup now to see what Medic was getting at. He pointed down across the small scars on the fingertips and the along the toughened skin along the man’s palm. “I’d say you do a lot of work with your hands.” He was polite in retaining the rest of what he thought. After all most people didn’t like someone they just met telling them what they are.

He was pleasantly surprised though that the stranger wasn’t in the least bit weirded out by his little talk that he had just been going off on. In fact he laughed once he finished and drank the rest of his coffee. He crumpled the paper cup in his hand and threw it with pinpoint accuracy into a trashcan nearby. “What are you, some kind of hand specialist?” he asked, thumb brushing across the tip of his nose.

Medic lifted two fingers in the air, shaking his head and laughing once more. “Close enough. I’m a doctor. And you?”The stranger smiled, all teeth and dark eyes. “That’s a secret.” Medic waved his hands. 

“Oh, that’s just unfair now,” he complained, leaning forward and picking up his cup. The coffee was lukewarm now but he didn’t have the intent of drinking it in the first place.

“Is it?”

“Absolutely!”

“Then how about-”

A man rushed down the subway steps, head whipping about wildly that Medic thought it might snap off his head. He spied the two of them and waved his hands in a similar fashion as to Medic’s, jogging over to them.

“Boss!”

Medic’s eyes narrowed for a moment, the blue of the man’s uniform drawing alarms to echo in his mind. He glanced at the man beside him.  
“Greg,” his companion greeted, standing up now. He turned to Medic who had gotten past the point of being tense now for the sake of appearances. “What’s the name of where you work? I’ve been feeling a bit under the weather so I think I might schedule an appointment.” His voice was still like honeyed whiskey but Medic could hear the danger in it, the razor sharp blades that if provoked could tear the him apart and Medic was thrilled.

“Hudson Hill,” he said truthfully, knowing the trouble he could get from letting a merc, a blu one at that, know where he worked. If he digged deep enough, and Medic was sure he could; that man would know exactly who he was talking to. Perhaps he knew even now. The mere thought of this danger, this challenge to evade and perhaps have a little taste of that old world sent his mind racing and he could see his demise in this man with large, callous hands.

“You’ll find me under Hans Meisner,” Medic said just as the large merc began to leave with his teammate.

“Marcus,” came the gruff, but amused reply whispering of promises of later meetings. He could hear it as if it were in his ear and the echo of Marcus’ laughter filled his mind louder than the incoming train that was pulling just in from the comfortable darkness.


	2. Water

His mornings, unlike some or maybe most would think , were not of routine type of nature. Hans of course loved routine; he loved knowing what was to come and have everything perfectly planned but he could not fight his own unpredictable nature. He was meticulous in work, but in all aspects was always incredibly and passionately a creature of impulse.

Today, he woke up on the ground beside his bed, the blankets tousled and wildly splayed everywhere around him like a giant nest. The ground was warm from the long period he had been there asleep. He was sure the reason as to why he was there was because he had obviously moved and tumbled down in his sleep.

Hans was a deep sleeper and so it didn’t surprise him in the slightest to find himself there on the wooden floor with eyes staring up at a morning sunlit ceiling. He lay there for a few minutes, watching the shadows bounce across the white canopy above. They peeked and darted from behind the blinds of his windows. Hans preferred the winters when the mornings weren’t so bright but since it was spring with summer just dancing around the corner, the mornings were becoming brighter and brighter earlier and earlier.

It was about half past six that he decided to get up and instead of taking a shower first he trudged in his striped red and white pajamas to the kitchen and ate a breakfast consisting of toast and partially burnt scrambled eggs while standing up, propped up beside an open window. He scattered some scraps of bread along the windowsill, pitching himself out to birds flying by and being coldly rejected. Wild birds were harder to gain the trust of and so far Hans had not been successful in the least bit these last couple months.

When he was finished he put the plate into the sink for later and went to take a shower. The steam warmed his pale skin but the hot water, near scalding, sank deeper than that and colored his flesh pink with life. It was one of the few moments that made him realize he was alive. Then it would be gone and he’d start humming an old Austrian tune he had heard a lifetime ago in the streets of Vienna.

Clean, black slacks, white dress shirt, and a red tie later he was ready to head out. The ground was cold asphalt beneath his shoes. He could not feel it but looking at it glisten in the sun chilled him deeply. It was raining by the time he got to the clinic. The employees saw him there as a proper, but eccentric man. The employers saw him as a valuable asset for the underground service they offered and of course still eccentric. But what could he say? He enjoyed his job. Well, mostly when it wasn’t boring which was perhaps 50% of the time.

The weather changed so quickly. Clear skies turned to grey, blending and looking like dirty smudges along an empty canvas. Hans adored the rain though and so he didn’t mind it much as he swiftly arrived at the clinic. The clinic was almost like a hospital. Almost as big but not so much compared to the real thing. They were much like an urgent care, an emergency clinic in a low grade area that couldn’t afford a real hospital. Hans stopped by the reception desk, greeting his favorite person in the whole rotten clean white establishment.

With her short, white curling hair, tiny glinting green eyes and thin mouth; Hans could have fallen in love for this sweet old woman with a small smile and wrinkles that had been etched into her visage by the hardships of her life. She was a small Welsh woman. Her accent was soft and tender, much like a song of made of falling mist it often caressed Hans’ temper and calmed him. He pressed his hand against the hard counter, leaning over to peek at the logs she was sorting through. In boxes she often places a precise check, sometimes now and then turning her wrist in short, graceful motions when she wrote some minor detail.

“Dorothy,” Hans greeted, smiling widely. He watched her smile but not look at him and he felt warmed by the subtle acknowledgement. “Am I late?”

She promptly tilted her pen toward the clock behind her, a curl of snow shifting in the whole. “A whole minute, Mr. Meisner,” she replied, tapping her pen against the counter. “You should feel terrible.” Hans laughed and leaned farther over the counter until Dorothy had to smack him in the cheek with the butt of the pen, pushing firmly his face away. “The boss wanted to see you upstairs,” Dorothy informed, smiling smugly now. Her mask of apathy was broken now and she as open as a book. He knew she was laughing. He could see it in her eyes.

“Bah. How much do you want to bet that he’ll let me brush him off?” he asked, his perkiness deflating now. She flashed him an unimpressed look. “No money at all.” Hans groaned. Yeah, he’s not getting out of this one.

 

* * *

 

“I need ya to run an errand,” the boss in his sometimes hard to understand Brooklyn accent spoke, tossing Hans a thick file. Great. More paperwork to go through. “And what is that?” he asked, unable to keep the annoyance out of his voice. It often made his own accent thicker and voice to come more from the nose.

His boss, an older man in his late sixties stood hunched over his gold club. Looked like he had planned to go golfing but now with this weather he had settled in making his office into his own little gold course. Hans had to step around things and avoid the ball trying to kill him by darting between his feet whenever he walked. He swore that the Boss was doing it on purpose.

“I don’t have to test the temperature of your bathtub do I?”

The ball rebounded off the side of Hans’ shoe. Yeah, he was doing it on purpose.

“No. I need you to over see a shipment of antibiotics and some other things. The address should be inside the folder, second paper in.”

Another ball smacked against his shoe and rolled off to the side, bouncing off the wall and into the opening of a cup laid down on its side. Hans raised a brow. He didn’t know whether to congratulate the Boss on the shot of ask what ‘other things’ entailed. The little stiff, white mustache on the Boss’ lip twitched as Hans made a move to open his mouth, beating him promptly in time.

“That’s all. You should hurry on your way. You don’t have much time to dally.” The Boss waved his hand dismissively and Hans rolled his eyes as he turned to leave. He could hear the phone ring behind him as he closed the door, taking a step toward the stairs. Hans couldn’t catch what was being said but he supposed it was just more ‘business’. Though the Boss would constantly ruin his fun, he had to admit he was growing fond of him and Dorothy. Perhaps his hidden thirst for something more would diminish in time. Maybe he was doomed to this almost civilian life.

As he went down the main stairs he spied Dorothy walking toward him with small, solid steps. She held a cup of coffee in her hand.

“There’s donuts in the lounge as well if you want,” she said, offering him the cup. He had the thought to tell her he preferred water instead and paused, remembering something he had forgotten. She continued, “Also the Boss just called down. He wants you to forget about the job he gave you. Said to send you back up because he wants you to meet someone coming in.”

As if waiting for the cue Hans caught sight of a dark presence disrupting the whiteness of the place, a splotch of undisguised trouble rising like a great shadow at the corner of his eyes. Hans saw him saunter in, walking with great confidence but fluidity that made him appear sly with that half smile on his smug face.

Hans lifted his fingers to Dorothy, smiling. The room seemed to have melted into white, the only two real things in the world was him and Hans.  
“No thank you, dear heart,” Hans spoke.

He met the obscured gaze behind tinted blue lenses.

“I hate coffee.”


	3. Apple Juice

There was a slight tension in the air as if foreshadowing events to come by the pattern of heir heavy gaits and the sway of their limbs. They entered the office together. It was a tension shared intimately between Hans and this man named Marcus.

The office was just as Hans had left it. Some paper cups turned on their white sides along the floor, and the Boss casually playing a small game of mini golf. Ah, dependable Boss. No humility here. Hans smiled, stepping closer. A golf ball skidded across the gound and bounced off the side of his shoe. The Boss waved his club around in the air.

"Ah, there you two are. Hans!" He motioned to the folder still in Hans' hands. "Give those to Mr. Smith there.," he said, Hans met those hidden eyes once more and felt their strength and intensity even behind their tinted lenses. He was though a bit disgruntled that he couldn't see them completely in their dark brilliance. Hans smiled and handed over the folder, fingers brushing against his like spider legs over a web, fleeting and almost like an illusion. Marcus' gaze lingered on Hans' hand before he opened the folder and glanced over them with little interest.

"Mr. Smith will be working with us for the next couple of weeks for the safety of this establishment. He and his team have much experience in this type of business and have escorted and transported things that will not be discussed," the Boss continued after a taking place with his golf club and a new ball at the corner of his desk, "While those idiot brother wipe each other from the Earth we'll be getting some good business but it'll be to try to stay out of their little dispute." Marcus shrugged, turning his head slightly. "I'm supposed to protect you," he rumbled. Hans could tell he was looking at him now. What sort of game was he playing?

"Us, this clinic," Boss corrected but satisfied to know he had his employee's cooperation. Marcus shrugged and Hans found it hard not to watch him from the corner of his eye. He wanted to lower his guard but there was much about this man that put him on a delicious edge. Though he wore blue, it seemed that Marcus didn't belong to any one color. His loyalty, perhaps, belonged somewhere else and Hans wondered where. He wondered why he still wore blue.

Hans realized with slight frustration that he only wanted to see the browns of his eyes. It was its own color unobscured by the blue lenses or any of the colors around them. Unlike Hans' icy blue eyes that reflected everything back like a pale mirror, Marcus' drowned color with a scrupulous clarity that was startling. He had power.

Marcus spoke again and Hans was sure that he saw a flicker of change in the man's almost impassive expression. Smug and unafraid with a bright declaration that spoke volumes of no shame. He knew he was being watched just as diligently as he had been watching Hans and he was loving it. When Hans realized this he felt a flare in his temper and an amusement that extended to bounds that he didn't think was possible.

"You want us to check this warehouse to make sure the shipment is safe right?" he asked, handing the folder back to Hans. "I don't mind the Doc joining, but it'll be safer if you just leave it to us." The Boss took a shot and made it into a cup on the other side of the room. "No," he said, fingers brushing at his white moustache. "He needs to be there." His eyes went from Hans to Marcus. "That's all. He knows his place and when he's not needed."

Should Hans have felt proud at the Boss' words? Well he did. Yes, his reputation did precede him which made him quite desirable. And he wasn't weak either. There was no messing with Hans. He could disappear with no trace or come at you with a vengeance that would scare even the Devil. Hans glanced at Marcus.

On second thought maybe the Devil would be his match.

 

* * *

 

"Oh, I think I know you," exclaimed Greg behind his black shades. "You're from last night weren't you?" he inquired. Hans smiled cheerfully and lifted to fingers at the side of his head in a sort of salute. "Why yes. What a good memory," Hans complimented, taking the middle seat in the back of the car Greg had parked out in front of the clinic. Marcus took his spot on the passenger side with a grunt. Greg chuckled, "That I do. I've got the best in the group. Specially with faces!" Hans clapped.

"Perfect; then would you approve to be subjected to some tests sometime?" he asked. The man's expression turned curious and he glanced at Hans from the mirror. "What sort of tests?" he asked, turning the car on. It coughed for a good minute before quietly going back to it rumbling nature. "Oh you know. Show you a few pictures, give you a memory test with cards and all. Maybe surgery." Hans said this all casually and you wouldn't have thought it any different if he hadn't said the bit about surgery. Greg gulped and nervously shifted in his seat. "Uh..I don't know about that.."

Marcus waved his hand and tapped the dashboard. "You're not doing any experiments on my men," he said crossly, gaze running across Hans. He folded his arms and lifted his chin. "Let's go." Greg seemed to have relaxed a bit from the protection of his boss that had the mind to not let the strange doctor have his way with him. Hans chuckled. "Oh, I wouldn't call it experimentation," he reasoned, smiling.

"No."

"Oh, come now. It's just few tests. We could make medical breakthroughs!"

"Still no."

Hans threw his hands up and propped his elbow against the frame of the window, sighing dramatically. "Ach, you're all a bunch of babies," he complained. From the side mirror he could see the twitch of a smile on Marcus' lips. Hans hid a grin.

By the time they reached the warehouse the rain had stopped and the clouds were just breaking apart to reveal milky blue. Hans pushed open the car door and got out to stretch briefly while the two blus spoke to each other. He hadn't a chance to look at the files sitting now inside the glove compartment in the front seat but he had a feeling that he really didn't want to read it. There were men about. Not discreet but casual in the way that working men work. There would have seemed nothing odd about how they were loading things from the docks and shipping things out in large wooden crates. The air was crisp with the taste of sea. It wasn't Hans' first time here. It was however the first time he visited this warehouse in particular. Their usual base of operations was deeper in the maze of warehouses. This one most likely belonged to one of men they were dealing with. Brothers, huh?

Hans gazed out at the dark, ominous waters. It was almost like Blu and Red. Hans shook his head and smiled lightly. These brothers the Boss had mentioned were big time drug traffickers and regulated prostitution in their areas along with other crimes of the like. It seemed right now that they were fighting over turf and it was becoming more than a petty dispute. A silly conflict that held no interest to Hans.

Yet..

"They said they're ready for you to do your thing," came a low, but gruff voice beside him. Hans blinked and stepped to the side to put more space between them. "Oh," he said, brows furrowing. Marcus was close and he had the sensation of their clothes brushing slightly against another when he had came beside him. All presence and dark humor. "Right, you're not coming with?" he asked, taking a step past him and glancing back.

Marcus shook his head and mimicked the same action Hans had done in the car, saluting him cheekily with a grin. "Staying out here to check the premises. We are the escort after all." Hans laughed. "Oh? Well then, don't get lost," he joked and stepped away. He caught himself as he entered the dim warehouse filled with morning light. It was alarming how disarming the man was. Hans had almost forgotten himself and let his guard down. He frowned deeply.

"Doc!"

He froze. The sunny voice and the cheerful demeanor that spoke of summer and excitement washed over him and it took Hans a moment to relax after he registered who it was. He pressed a hand to his chest to calm the sudden quickness of his pulse, but did not betray himself in his ever smiling expression.

"Morning, herr Josh," Hans greeted the young gangster that sauntered over glistening in the pale light. He has no shirt and the bandages around his hands were damp as well. He must have been boxing. A quiet sensation of familiarity assailed Hans and he tilted his head. "What're you doing here?"

The young man's face contorted with a sour expression as if he were tasting something gross then folded into one of great enthusiasm. His light brown hair curled against his sweaty forehead and the usually almost invisible freckles over his face were vividly clear from the flush in his tan summer visage. He was one of scout's many brother's and the first one he had met once coming back to New York. It seemed that he was living by himself and would have gone to become a world boxing champ if only he hadn't gotten attached to the gangster family of Abello. He was their boxing champ now and he won nights of backroom fights with burning eyes and a ferocious heart. Why he'd give up such a dream to work in these dingy places under questionable men confused Hans but he never pried just like how he never told Josh he knew his brother. It was something he rather not bring up.

He had met Josh not long after he joined the clinic and had settled in, having found the little twerp beaten and half passed out in a back alley from a particularly tough gang fight. Since then the young man had become attached to him. Though he was some years older than Scout, Josh acted almost the same as him but with a hint of more maturity that Hans appreciated. He wouldn't have minded working with Josh back during the Gravel Wars.

Josh patted his bare chest proudly. "Just won me some cash just now. D'ya know the guy who owns this warehouse is my boss? I come here to spar with some of the guys on Fridays." He grinned at Hans brightly, his laughter loud and unrestrained. Hans raised a brow. "Is that so?" he mused. "I came here to check out my own Boss' shipment. Also seems like you need to change those bandages."

Josh stared at his hands briefly and shrugged. "Aw, ya don' gotta do that, Doc. I can take care of myself. I'm sure Boss got something better fer ya to do." Hans waved his hand. "I'll do it, just give me a moment. I rather patch you up than some half dead dolt." Josh laughed and walked around Hans, hands in his pockets now. "Rightio!" Josh pulled out a carton of apple juice and threw it to Hans. "Stay hydrated, yeah?" Hans rolled his eyes and threw the carton back which was caught without fail. "Say that to someone who isn't a doctor. Besides, apples keep doctors away right?"

The shipment turned out to be a plentiful amount of antibiotics and some other medical supplies that was common for clinics to have and the 'other stuff' was organs and other samples that would be put to sale on the black market. It was a good business but sadly Medic was not allowed to be Mr. Repo man. He was a little more careless and bloody in his methods than others he had to admit.

It also turned out that Josh's boss wasn't here but another man who directed him to a small back room with a few men on white beds. Their wounds were dressed sloppily and Medic frowned, nose scrunching up. He shooed everyone away until Josh was too annoying and Hans just let him hover around him as he worked on these men. He did help a bit, but only with handing Hans with what he needed. Bandages, check. Gel, check. Splints, check. Soon he was finished and he had changed Josh's bandages as well.

"Thanks, Doc," Josh cheered, grinning as he wiggled his fingers and flexed his arms. "Ya got a healin' touch." Hans rolled his eyes but grinned. "A touch that can also hurt, mind you," Hans warned half jokingly as he washed his hands. A two hours had passed and his mind fell upon the shrouded figure of Marcus. He brooded as he left the warehouse. It the afternoon now and the sun was out, the ground still wet with memories of rain that could not be forgotten so easily. He saw the car, but curiously didn't see Marcus or Greg around. He wondered where they could have wondered off to. He opened the passenger side of the car, surprised that it was unlocked, and pulled open the glove compartment to take out the file.

He looked over it and confirmed everything was in order until he saw peeking from the glove compartment a loose piece of paper. He stashed the file back inside and tugged at it. It turned out to be a photograph. He turned it over and felt a dryness in his mouth.

It was a photo of him back before he had joined Red. He was right about getting into trouble by giving himself away to this merc, whichever side he was on. Though he felt despair in the thought that he would have been damned either way since his boss had already hired him beforehand. It was just a coincidence that they met in that subway last night. Hans dragged his hand down his face and looked at his well defined features. He was having a bad hair day that day and he couldn't help but crack a small chuckle at the ridiculousness of the memory. He remembered how incredibly intrigued he had been since seeing the magnificence of the medi-gun and the advanced technology of the tf industries.

Hans went through the rest of the contents and saw nothing more scandalous than that one photo of him. He glanced outside and saw the speck of what he suspected Marcus' back in the distance. He looked to be talking to Greg. Hans made sure everything was as it was and closed the compartment before stepping back outside and making his way over to the two mercs. By the time he got there though Greg had gone off somewhere that Hans couldn't have known. He waved.

"Where's he going?" he asked and stepped up beside Marcus who glanced at him. "He's got another assignment and so do I," Marcus said, scratching at his chin thoughtfully. Well, so much for escorts Hans thought, amused. "You done?" he asked. Hans nodded. "Ja, just needed to patch up some idiots. The shipments been taken care of." Marcus nodded and began to walk away. "I'll be heading out for the rest of the day so don't die. You can take the car back. You drive right?" Hans was a bit surprised by the aloofness in his words. "I can," he said without thinking.

Marcus chuckled and patted Hans' side with a large hand. "Then I'll take it back tomorrow." Hans on impulse grabbed Marcus' wrist, taking a step closer and mouth hanging open to speak. He faltered and cleared his throat. "Ah- um.. Would you like to have a drink later tonight?" Marcus stopped in his tracks and Hans felt the force of his presence come over him and thicken the air with his scent. He slowly smirked and came closer to Hans who stared at him without breathing. Marcus pulled up his goggles, the brown eyes Hans had been waiting to see meeting him with a force that left him breathing raggedly. There was something dangerous in those eyes.

"Yeah, let's do that," he rumbled. Hans swallowed, his grip becoming slack. He realized now that it was his own wrist being held. "I'll come get you after work. You get out at 10 right? I know a good place." His face grew hot and alarm echoed in his mind. Marcus chuckled again before releasing Hans and taking a step back. Suddenly the heat dispersed much to Hans' relief. His heart was beating erratically and he couldn't help the feeling of hot shame washing over him just as Marcus left and disappeared.

What was he doing? Inviting this man to a drink. What did he want? Answers. Yes, that's right, answers. He was doing this to get this man to tell him what he knew and who exactly he was. It had to be.  
But it wasn't and Hans knew. It was also because of the attraction he felt, the desire for this man and all the dangers that he came with.


	4. Brandy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is NSFW. :3

Dorothy fed him. He ate only as much as he needed even though she always insisted he needed to eat more. The paperwork along with checking up of patients that came in consumed Hans' time, but not enough of it to trick him into the belief that maybe he wasn't nervous about tonight's date. Yet it was the giddiness in the back of his mind that whispered thrilling secrets that steeled his nerves and drove him on through the day. Unlike coffee, Hans didn't mind alcohol as much. In fact he recommended having a bit of wine to some patients. He never drank to be drunk and could only tolerate a few glasses before he'd be flustered and ready to take on the world.

Eight became nine and nine became ten and soon enough Hans was hanging up his lab coat and exiting the clinic into the cool air of the night. Darkness had fallen over the city in a great blanket but was chased away by the countless street lights and cars. It somehow warmed and made him feel infinitely more safe to know he was surrounded by life. Some nights he'd dream of cold metal and dusty fields of nothing. There, truly, he was alone. And that was an incredibly interesting and frightening idea.  
It didn't take Hans long to spy that same black coat and that tall, bulky frame in the yellow lights as if trying to merge into shadows, chasing every corner. Hans adjusted his glasses and stepped toward him.

"What's this play you wanted to show me hm?" Hans inquired, hand in his pocket. There was no trace of those goggles, only the smoothness of dark perfection. "You'll see," he replied with a cackle, leading Hans to the car. He drove them to a quiet, warm bar on the second floor of a shady building. It was nice. A quiet place in a noisy city.  
The bartender was quick to answer their orders and in seconds Hans had a glass of brandy, the golden liquor like glimmering liquid gold in his eyes. It was smooth but had that burn he found himself fond of. Marcus had a beer and through the glass behind the counter met Hans' gaze. He looked to be laughing in his eyes. Hans chewed on his lip and thought to himself he ought to get to work.

He cleared his throat and leaned against the counter. "I think I'll be blunt about this," Hans began, nodding to himself and tapping a finger across the rim of his glass. "I'd like to confirm that you know exactly who I am." An amused expression wandered across Marcus' face and he chortled deeply, leaning against the counter as well with his elbow propped up upon the mahogany counter. "I do."

Hans narrowed his eyes at him, that ever knowing smile on his face was just about reaching upon the point of irritating. "And?"

"And?"

Hans sighed, waving his hand tiredly. "What do you want? Aren't you going to kill me or something? Take me in for money?" Hans couldn't take the suspense. Just seeing the man work without doing anything was driving him to the edge. What was his purpose of taking this job? Why haunt him with that handsome mug?

Marcus swallowed a gulp of beer and said, "What do you want me to do?" Hans was just about to tear his hair out. What did he want him to do? Him? This was definitely a game now. Hans glared at him, glared and peered deeply into those dark eyes that were laughing still. There was a deep itch inside of him.

"Do not answer me with a question," he replied irritably. Yes, he knew what he wanted from the man. It was just on the horizon of his mind, tempting him so deliciously. "You are Blu; I am Red. What is your purpose for.. for.." Hans trailed off, catching himself before he could blurt it out. Marcus caught it. Of course he did but curiously, and maddeningly he did not pry upon it instead surprisingly he retorted, "I've worn many shirts." Hans swallowed. Marcus' gaze fell upon his beer bottle as if trying to discern each individual ingredient by taste. "Red, Blu, Gray." He flickered back to Hans. "I don't belong to anyone. We're mercs. We don't need sides. We just need money and a job."

Hans' face scrunched up, confused but stunned by the man's answer. That scene of finding his photo among the papers of that glove compartment went through his mind and he bit his lower lip thoughtfully. He spoke out loud without thinking. "Then why do you have a photo of me?"

Marcus was caught off guard, eyes partially widened and mouth parted. "How do you know that?" Hans took a deep breath, as if he had been holding it in for a long while. He realized what he had just revealed and colored under the pinning gaze. Marcus was looking at him suspiciously now. Hans pushed himself from the counter, standing up.  
"I'm going to the restroom," he announced and hurried away, fists clenched and mind in overdrive from his own confusion and the alcohol. He met his own flustered expression in the mirror. He breathed deeply, observing his own sharp features. The broad shoulders and the pointed nose. Watered down pools of blue and long, thin lips. He was glad not to be too pale. The tan of his skin did some to hide the pink of his face.

Bowing down, Hans twisted the knob of the faucet and washed his face, the cool water doing well to calm his rushing thoughts. When he turned it off, bringing his head back up he spied within the glass the gaze of that man. He saw the flush instantly return and the hitching of his own breath, his lips parted just as Marcus' had been.

"Don't look at me like that," he said, half choked. Marcus raised a brow, stepping closer. Though he wasn't close enough to Hans he could still feel the wave and power of his presence that seemed to suffocate him. "Like what?" he taunted, eyes smoldering and darker than fresh coffee. Hans could feel himself burned by them.

He gritted his teeth, knuckles going slightly white by the force that he applied to gripping the counter. "With those damn eyes. Are you playing with me?" His voice he had hoped would remain steady did not sound as such. It creaked with his desire and torn resolution. Marcus paused, stopping just a several steps behind Hans. "I'm not."

Hans glowered angrily. "Then why are you tempting me?" Marcus laughed. The sound was rich and low. It rumbled and vibrated throughout Hans in a way that made his mouth dry up. He had a feeling this happened before. Marcus did not move but Hans could almost feel his touch.

"I should be asking that, Hans." Hearing his name sparked something in Hans. It was a dark pleasure. "If it's not to kill you; why do you think I have a picture of you?"

That was enough to cause Hans to lash out, shoving the man back against the wall. Marcus allowed it. That damned bastard did not care that he was pushed against the wall by the brute force of the doctor but he did let it be known who was in charge. He gripped Hans' wrists with a steady strength that made Hans scowl. He lifted them up to their chests and pulled Hans' closer, the brush of their clothes and the almost contact of their bodies fanned the flames of the passion and intimacy surrounding them.

They stood there, eyes never breaking contact and breathing nearly irregular. The air was thick and Hans pressed closer, their hips touching. Then after a moment of clarity, Hans spoke lowly, desire dripping off every part of him. "Here or..?" Marcus grinned and dropped Hans' wrists, pulling him into a searing kiss full of hunger and heat.

How they got back to Hans' place he didn't know how but they were at each other's clothes by the time the door was shoved open and slammed shut by the weight of their bodies coming together in a obscene mess.

Their lips were crushed against one another, pulling back then coming back for more as if they couldn't get enough of the others' taste. Hans dragged fingers down Marcus' back, scratching and pulling him closer. Then they were on the floor, Marcus pulling Hans' clothes off while Hans did the same. They rubbed against each other, breathy moans and whispers for more filled the air. Hans could not in fact blame this on any amount of alcohol. His desire for this man was more than he could handle but that was good because Marcus seemed intent on satisfying him til they couldn't move.

It moved to the kitchen counter with Hans' legs wrapped around Marcus' waist and their cocks pushed together. He stroked them as Marcus' lips descended upon his collarbone and throat. Hans found it hard not to let out the sounds he did as he was taken to the couch and pushed onto his hands and knees. Marcus' lips found their way to his entrance and Hans let out a sound of surprise, legs parting farther when the strange, tickling sensation reached him and had him jolting each time his tongue reached into him and teased. Then Hans would let out a frustrated sigh, ordering the older merc to stop playing around. Marcus laughed and Hans felt his chest well up with a strange warmth. Then they moved to the bedroom. Marcus was playfully smacking at Hans' ass until Hans had smacked him playfully at the back of his hand and pulled him into a breathtaking kiss that rekindled that desperate need in Marcus that answered Hans.

His legs were pushed apart and the sting of his slick fingers brought Hans onto his back, panting flush against the messy red sheets. It had been a long time for him and he appreciated the experience of the older merc who had him curling up and writhing with pleasure. It wasn't long until he was stretched and Marcus had Hans' legs wrapped around his waist again. He grinned smugly and Hans couldn't help the laughter bubbling up in him as Marcus scolded him, telling him that he was making this less sexy. Such train of thought was loss however once Hans reassured him with another kiss, sucking at his lips and nipping at his tongue deviously. Marcus was sold.

He placed himself at the entrance after letting Hans roll on the condom with that devilish but talented mouth of his before meeting his gaze and pinning him there. It seemed he knew just how to get Hans going, had mastered that smoldering look of his that had Hans trembling. When he pushed in, Hans grit his teeth and tightly squeezed his legs around him, a loud groan escaping his bruised lips. He was silenced though by Marcus, their lips meeting and his large hand grasping Hans' cock and stroking. Hans had his fingers in Marcus' grey hair, had them tugging and pulling him closer as he pushed inside him to the base.

Hans drew his fingers across his neck and shoulders, followed the curves of his muscles and worked Marcus up in a way that he was soon repaying Hans with strong, deep thrusts that had his head spinning and his throat hoarse. He could not tease him anymore once Marcus turned his attention to only the pleasure seeping into every bit of him, crushing him against the arms of rapture that left him both breathless and staggering.

They were both panting and lying tangled between the sheets against each other when they had finished. Hans was just as sweaty as Marcus who drew long, soothing circles across his hips and took a moment before pulling out of Hans and throwing the used condom away lazily. Hans chuckled and drew Marcus into a slow kiss, tongues playing with each other. Marcus' hands slid over Hans' flesh as if relishing the sensation. They tickled over his stomach and chest, briefly teasing the nipples then traveling back south where they were massaging his thighs. Hans sighed, appreciating the gesture.

It didn't take long for them to be in the bath together, lying in the yellow light and peering at each others' scars. Looking became touching then touching became kissing and well, they were at it again. This time though it wasn't the quick, desperate sex they had in that bedroom before. Here they took their time in the clouds of warm steam and drained the water low. Hans drew himself on top of Marcus who sat leisurely back against the wall of the tub, a deliciously devilish smile on his lips.

He watched everything Hans did, watched the way his muscles rippled and how he spread himself on top of him and took him in again with those wonderful lips parting in a way that seemed almost incredibly lewd. Marcus' hands rested on Hans' hips as he rode him, massaging and heightening the sense of pleasure they both felt. In his almost always smug expression Hans saw the beginnings of his will cracking beneath the surface.

A slight, delicate sheen of sweat covered his forehead and his breathing became ragged. Hans wrapped his arms around his neck, drawing their forehead together. Their noses touched and Hans felt his climax slowly nearing. He could feel Marcus rock into him, could feel the pulsing hardness and the shuddering sensation of the tip brushing that bundle of nerves. Hans let out a deep breath, whining lowly as Marcus began to thrust back up, meeting his rocking in time and rhythm in a way that was fully stimulating him with each thrust.

Hans felt his body tense and clench. That high, maddeningly feeling was there. There, almost there. Then he would halt. Hans let out a disapproving sound. He was held still by Marcus who grinned. When a moment passed he'd help lift Hans up then drop him back down upon himself until Hans was clawing at him and about to come then that was when he'd stop again. Hans knew exactly what he was doing and amused, went along to the point that it almost came to the point he'd pin Marcus down and finish the job. As if knowing what Hans was thinking, Marcus decided to shift his hips and pound into him in a way that had Hans gasping and arching above him. He let out a long moan as he came in long jets across their stomachs. Marcus came soon after with a breathless groan, leaving open mouth kisses and bites across Hans shoulders.

"Do you have any other pictures of me?" Hans asked slowly.

Marcus paused.

"Yeah."

"Show them to me later."

Marcus laughed, shaking his head, wrinkles appearing at the corners of his eyes. Hans pursed his lips, amused. "Is that a no?"

"If you join my team, perhaps I'll consider it."

"You drive a hard bargain, Marcus," Hans laughed as well. Marcus licked his lips and lifted Hans up, helping him out of the tub.

"Not as much as you."

Hans peered at him curiously. "What do you mean?" His reply was a knowing grin and an urging hand to lead him to the bedroom. Marcus kissed the back of Hans' ear. "Say my name again." Hans chuckled, tingling from the closeness. "You're a dummkopf, Marcus." He snorted and dragged Hans toward the bed, lips touching his.

"Close enough."


End file.
